


Helpless

by Madmeeper



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass, The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 23:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madmeeper/pseuds/Madmeeper
Summary: She saw it, the whole thing. The race for the metals, the clashing of swords, his efforts to save her. It was all so clear in her mind's eye despite being a statue, subject to the torture of watching her best friend suffer while she stood powerless. She didn’t like it; she wanted to help, but she couldn’t, and being powerless was her worst fear come true. But... it was surely the same for him. She saw in the early morning hours when he hadn’t slept, when his exhaustion took over, when he was reduced to a sobbing mess at her petrified feet. In times he thought he was alone crawling through the depths of dungeons, she was there, forced to watch him and unable to act. Helpless, the both of them.---Occurs after the events of Phantom Hourglass





	Helpless

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this at 1am a few nights ago, kinda liked how it came out despite being absolutely groggy so I edited it a bit and decided to throw it to the wind. Enjoy!

She saw it, the whole thing. The race for the metals, the clashing of swords, his efforts to save her. It was all so clear in her mind's eye despite being a statue, subject to the torture of watching her best friend suffer while she stood powerless. She didn’t like it; she wanted to help, but she couldn’t, and being powerless was her worst fear come true. But... it was surely the same for him. She saw in the early morning hours when he hadn’t slept, when his exhaustion took over, when he was reduced to a sobbing mess at her petrified feet. In times he thought he was alone crawling through the depths of dungeons, she was there, forced to watch him and unable to act.  _ Helpless _ , the both of them. 

When Tetra was cured, when Bellum was finally destroyed, Link wouldn’t let her go. Not moments after the threat was gone he was sobbing into her neck, mumbling apologies about how he wasn’t there to save her at first. He was ridiculous, she thought, clearly exhausted, too hard on himself, and as she wrapped her arms around his frame she whispered into his ear that she was sorry too. 

He held her like she would disappear again, like she would return to stone if he dared release his grasp. He was scared, scarred,  _ helpless, _ only wanting the security that the person most precious to him wouldn’t be taken again. His mumbling didn’t cease even after she kissed him, choked back sobs in his throat and tears maring his face. He looked the most un-hero like she had ever seen, plainly overwhelmed, a mess of emotions not unlike an overly sensitive child. But she knew better, he was stronger than most, and so his relief only reiterated his anguish. 

He was so thoroughly  _ broken _ she realized, so she pulled him close, ignored his apologies and told him she was proud. She had seen everything, she heard his whispers in the dark, his fears and anguish and heartache, and she could do nothing but love him despite the shattered mess he had become. It was her fault, truthfully, and the thought that she had put him through all this would sit deep in her mind for years to come. She could already feel the guilt weighing down on her just like it had while she was watching over him, but she pushed it aside for now. She was broken now too, but not as broken as him; she could put her regrets aside to console her best friend. 

Even after they broke apart he wouldn’t release her hand, always keeping contact, never letting go. She let him without hesitation, because she wanted him close, to feel the sensation of skin on skin, to feel  _ alive _ and not of stone. A marble shell was a poor body, because even though she saw it all, she could do nothing to console him, nothing to cheer him on, nothing to reassure him. It was agony, she had never felt so helpless, and vulnerability was never something she wanted to experience so thoroughly. Despite her fears and her struggles, she couldn’t hold a candle to his experience. All that he had endured had been for her, and she realized then that she would never find a better soulmate in all of the Great Sea. She decided from then on everything she did would be for him, just as he had risked everything for her.

They made it home, to their ship, to the crew, to only discover their journey had been a whisp on the wind. Not a dream, they agreed, but a place between realities, in a space that maybe they would never understand. He made the point that he didn’t need to understand, and knowing they had done good for that world was closure enough. He didn’t want to dwell on it, she concluded. 

They set sail for port, away from this rift in space, away from the former home of the Ghost Ship, to somewhere grounded and familiar. Twilight descended on the deck, and she looked at him, still holding hands with a lose but purposeful grip. His cheeks were dry now, but his eyes were exhausted, and she didn't criticize him when he asked to sleep next to her.

Night came and she pulled him under the covers, a pang of sadness ringing deep in her core when he refused to let her go once again. He kissed her, but the mumbling returned after, apologies spilling from his mouth, but she ignored them again. She pulled him close, so her heart rang through his ears, so the image of her as a stone would fade, to let him know she was real and  _ alive.  _ It was for her, too, because she wanted to feel like flesh and bone. After weeks of her body being confined in stone, she nearly forgot how it felt to be human. 

He begged quietly, in a tiny whisper unbefitting a hero of his caliber, to please not to leave him again. She kissed his forehead, promising she’d stay, but asking him to rest. She knew he was tired, that some sleep would do good for his health, but he was hesitant. He said he was afraid to sleep, that the nightmares would come, that he’d be reminded of the hell he had to endure. He was afraid of losing her, afraid of his shortcomings, afraid of what his subconscious would tell him when left to its own devices. So she shushed his sobs, stroked his hair, wiped his tears until he finally calmed. Not quite asleep, but not fully awake. A place of rest but not surrender. 

The mumbling returned, and he said he didn’t want to be so scared, to be helpless, but the journey had broken him. She revealed, too, that she was afraid of losing herself, that perhaps her time confined in a body that wasn’t hers would make her forget what it was like to be who she was. She was afraid of being trapped, confined to a space she couldn’t escape, and while she knew he’d always be there to help her she was afraid of the chance that maybe someday he wouldn’t. This last adventure had hit too close to home, and she thought it ironic that it took a grand journey to finally push them together like this. Their relationship here on out would be different, but she didn’t mind. They both wanted this, she felt, maybe not for it to happen in this way but the promise they’d stick together. Some good from the bad, maybe, she felt a lot less helpless by his side. 

He tried to stay awake, but he faltered, and sleep finally overtook him. He still held her, she in his arms and he in hers, the gentle thrum of her heart still beating against his ears. There was damage, lots of it, pieces of themselves they’d be picking up for years. But they had each other again, no longer separated a world apart. They would move on, they would grow, and get to a place where they need not feel so helpless anymore. But until then, they had this, a quiet understanding in the darkness of their home.


End file.
